Page 12 of The First Love Myth

I chance a look at Max, and his gaze is focused on me, his eyes intent and understanding and sympathetic. Uh-oh.

“I heard about Claire.”

I’m not surprised by this fact. I am surprised he’s sharing it with me.

“How?”

“Teachers are surprisingly tuned in to the gossip train. We need to be, you know, in case something is truly wrong. And something like what happened with the three of you... Well, it doesn’t stay quiet for long.”

Had he specifically asked about me though? And whom had he asked? I can’t imagine teachers sitting around on summer break gossiping about students’ love lives. Not that it matters. If Max had asked me what happened, I would’ve told him. I’m not the one who should be ashamed. At least he isn’t giving me the look of pity I see from everyone else, as if my life begins and endswith Andrew Singer. As if Claire was my one and only friend. Sympathy and empathy are fine. People have been here. They have advice and sob stories and soap boxes. All fine. But pity is inexcusable.

“When will you see your girlfriend again?” I take a bite of bacon, as if that denotes my complete nonchalance at Max’s revelation.

“Well, that’s why I’m wallowing,” he says, not quite looking at me. “Turns out she didn’t want a long-distance boyfriend, only the help of one to move her belongings six hundred miles down the East Coast.”

“Wait, what? You aren’t serious,” I say, angry on his behalf.

“As the plague.” He forks some eggs and a slice of bacon onto one of his pancakes and folds it into a taco. “Broke up with me about ninety seconds after I brought the last box inside.”

What a bitch. What a long return trip that must have been. I push the plate of bacon toward him. “Eat the bacon.”

The roads are quiet. Everyone has descended on the shore or fled to avoid the tourists. I’m usually one of the runners, heading down to North Carolina for my annual visit with the family. I’m honestly not too heartbroken that I’m not going this year. It would be nice to have some forced distance from Andrew, to meet a cute boy at a different beach in a different state, but then I would miss this time with Liz. And as the days go by, I find that I don’t want that.

Summer starts at the end of May in New Jersey, but right now, in my car with the windows down and Wilderness Weekend blasting, it finally officially feels like summer. If Becca wasn’t holing up with Ben in Rehoboth all weekend, I would drag her to the beach, Independence Day tourists be damned.Maybe I’ll ask Liz to go, or perhaps Max and I can move one of our training sessions to the sand. That could be... interesting.

I’m not thinking about Max shirtless on the beach when I almost hit the car blocking my driveway. I study the silver sedan. Julian sits in the driver seat, and he’s talking to himself. I’ve seen him in a creative thrall before, but this seems different. Apprehension slithers up my spine.

By the time I park the car down the street and walk back to the house, Julian is standing outside his car. He’s a mess. There’s always this sort of disheveled look about Julian, but this is different. He has days’ worth of stubble, and his eyes are huge and almost frantic. It’s an overreaction even for him. I know Liz told him she was fine. I watched her send the text. I survey my house and the empty driveway. Julian must not be certain anyone is here. It’s midmorning on a weekday, and though Liz has a key, Julian does not. I know Liz is home, though. I talked to her right before I left the café.

“I know she’s here, Zoey.” Julian somehow sounds pissed off and heartbroken all at once.

I stare at him with my arms crossed. Liz hasn’t been forthcoming with details, but I don’t like the look of Julian or his tone. And I haven’t forgotten the questions that Liz asked me after finding me in bed with Andrew.

“Whatever she’s told you, it’s not the whole story, Zoey.”

Something clicks then, and my heart clenches in an unfamiliar way. Maybe the way Liz’s and Cecilia’s had when my arrival blew up their lives all those years ago.

“If she wanted to see you, she would’ve answered the phone.” My voice is scratchy, my words weighted oddly as I process this new reality.Julian cheated on Liz. I know this deep in my bones. Andrew cheated on me. My dad cheated on his wife. How is this the natural progression of the relationships in my life? Anger and disgust flood my system, and I can hardly look at Julian.He’s my brother almost as much as Liz is my sister. They’ve been the pinnacle of love persevering, of overcoming the odds. How could he? The irony that I feel none of these feelings about Andrew and what he did to me is not lost on me.

Julian steps closer. “You know how she is.”

Seriously?I glare at him. Liz is steadfast and the opposite of melodramatic, and we both know it. I may have found Julian on the roof of the venue on the day of their wedding, but it was Liz who got him to the altar. Liz has forgiven him for every misstep, married him despite his cold feet. But this time, whatever Julian did finally broke her. Because Liz is never the one who leaves. The thought sends a ripple of panic through me because if seeing my boyfriend naked and writhing on top of my best friend isn’t enough to break the hold Andrew has on me, I don’t know what can and how I will survive it.

“Go home, Julian.” I move so that I’m standing between him and my house. He stares at me for a moment, a glint of something like amusement behind the frustration.

“Liz!” he screams at the top of his lungs.

He can’t be serious. Did he forget we’re not in a movie? “She doesn’t want to see you.”

“I don’t care.” He squares his shoulders, as if he plans to force his way through me if he must. “This is between me and my wife.”

“Jul—”

“It’s fine, Zoey.”

I spin around at Liz’s words. She stands at the top of the driveway, dressed for our yoga session, a cardigan on her shoulders. Her hands are clasped, and her hair falls in messy waves. For a split second, I see it—the sisters in us. It’s the slant of her eyes and the tightness of her jaw. It’s the way she clasps her hands and the pain etched into every part of her. Her pain reflects mine, and my heart breaks in a new and awful way.

“Come inside,” she says, straightening. “Both of you.”

---